Come early - antiques fair is a buyers' market

Here's a lesson from the experts on shopping green and shopping smart at Alameda's monthly antiques fair

Susan Fornoff, Chronicle Staff Writer

Published
4:00 am PDT, Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Vanessa Murphy (L) and Kelley Flynn look over items at the Alameda Antiques and Collectibles Faire, Sunday, March 2, 2008 in Alameda, California. Photo by David Paul Morris / The Chronicle

Vanessa Murphy (L) and Kelley Flynn look over items at the Alameda Antiques and Collectibles Faire, Sunday, March 2, 2008 in Alameda, California. Photo by David Paul Morris / The Chronicle

Photo: David Paul Morris, The Chronicle

Photo: David Paul Morris, The Chronicle

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Vanessa Murphy (L) and Kelley Flynn look over items at the Alameda Antiques and Collectibles Faire, Sunday, March 2, 2008 in Alameda, California. Photo by David Paul Morris / The Chronicle

Vanessa Murphy (L) and Kelley Flynn look over items at the Alameda Antiques and Collectibles Faire, Sunday, March 2, 2008 in Alameda, California. Photo by David Paul Morris / The Chronicle

Photo: David Paul Morris, The Chronicle

Come early - antiques fair is a buyers' market

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I'd never gone shopping at 7 o'clock on a Sunday morning, so I certainly was not prepared for the revelation that this is not at all early at the monthly Alameda Point Antiques and Collectibles Faire.

But the forlorn looks on the faces of my expert shopper guides, interior designers Kelley Flynn and Vanessa Murphy, tell me we are too late. They caress the carved, tasseled arms of a pair of beautifully restored, slate blue French Directoire chairs that dealer Terry Lee, from Soquel's Center Street Antiques, tells them has already been sold.

"These chairs - we love these chairs," Murphy says. She's never met Flynn before this morning but is delighted that their tastes are so similar. They're each paying Lee $8 for hand-painted Italian trays, Flynn's in blue and Murphy's in red, when Flynn asks what the chairs sold for.

"A designer bought the pair for $160," Lee tells them.

My shopping guides gape. And I realize I have, in one moment, extracted the essence of how to shop at the biggest vintage market in Northern California:

Arrive early, have cash or checkbook, and when you see something you must have, put your hands on it, negotiate a price and buy it.

"We're hurting, the economy is hurting, and it's survival time now in our business, the worst time I've seen in 40 years," says Andreas Kazos, who has a Sacramento furniture warehouse and loads up a truck for space H20 every month. "This Alameda show is probably the best place to go to find really good stuff, better than the Rose Bowl. You'll find Stickley, Tiffany - antiques and real treasures, not just something Martha Stewart would fix up."

"The economy is really weak, and a lot of dealers have been closing their stores," says Jerry Goldman, who with wife Betsy runs the show. "So our show is really important to them."

No wonder my expert guides declare that prices are the lowest they've been in years.

"Today my hope is restored," Flynn announces, heading home to the other side of Alameda with several finds.

Me, I'm just excited that I can come back next time, April 6, with confidence. This is the green way to shop, repurposing and reusing items that have stood time's test, but it can be intimidating to newcomers concerned about getting ripped off.

That's why, with the help of Chronicle Design Dilemmas contributor Marcy Voyevod, I lined up Flynn and Murphy to show me the ropes. Voyevod, a designer who lives in Alameda, and her husband, Tim Englert, have been getting on their bikes and riding to the show since it started in 1998.

Englert collects things like postcards and pop bottles, but once he found himself cycling home with a small table on his shoulders. "Usually," Voyevod said, "if we find something big, we just ride home and drive back for it."

Listening for the call

Murphy and Flynn both love to shop the fair, preferably without deer-in-the-headlights clients slowing them down. Murphy's philosophy is that decisions must be made on the spot, without a lot of ruminating, "or something you love is gone in a heartbeat." She'll put her finds in a warehouse until she needs them for a project. Flynn, shopping here usually for her own home, takes a more serendipitous approach: "I think sometimes the object finds you."

I follow them through the gate as they "let the aisles call you," as Flynn puts it. I had heard the event referred to as the "Alameda flea market," and so I am immediately surprised to see crystal lamps and polished furniture gleaming in the sunlight.

So now I'm worried that it's expensive. But when we stop to examine Ellen Willens' ornamental coral pieces and the designers inquire about prices, we are pleasantly surprised - $60 for a substantial piece they admire.

"It's a very good price," Flynn says quietly.

"Yes, I might buy a piece, but I don't feel like carrying it," Murphy says.

Too delicate to buy now, they agree, and we continue exploring. At the big space stocked by Euro-Linens, we squeeze big, fluffy pillows covered in soft vintage linens. Only $65 for these, which in a shop, Flynn says, would cost three times as much. A long, down-filled bolster that looks perfect for the top of a queen-size bed is $250 - and, "sold," says the merchant, taking it down and wrapping it for another admirer quick with the checkbook.

The pillows are new stuff made of old stuff, which is a gray area for the Goldmans.

"The rule that everything has to be at least 20 years old eliminated a lot of flea market stuff - the Chinese imports and the wrought iron," he says. "Euro-Linens is to me OK because you're using the stuff in a way it would originally have been used. I don't like when someone takes a spoon and makes it a bracelet. I don't want this to be an arts and crafts fair."

Cash or check

A booth full of vintage draperies and saris grabs my guides, and soon their wallets are out. (With no electricity in the booths, credit cards are rarely accepted, and one of the market ATMs ran out of cash on this day.) Murphy picks up a pair of beaded saris for $35; Flynn rummages through mod curtain sets and picks a panel for $20.

We take a close look at some heavy Venetian art glass objects at a nearby booth. Murphy picks one up, and the merchant says he'd "have to have a buck and a quarter for that." As we walk away, the women tell me that the pieces are Barovia, vintage 1930s Italy, and would cost three times as much in a shop. "That was a super fair price," Murphy says.

Then we land at the Center Street booth, lured by the sparkle of a large mercury bottle and more coral. After the designers buy their trays and admire the French chairs and a $650 lamp they say is a bargain, I take a closer look at a white cabinet that has been restored as an interesting bar unit and wonder what it was before.

"It was a piece of s-," Lee jokes. "A dark mahogany radio cabinet."

He removed the speaker part and lift, refinished the piece and painted it, with green trim inside and a mirrored shelf at the bottom. A do-it-yourselfer might have gotten the original for $10 at a garage sale, but here all the work has been done and it seems a bargain at $180. In fact, it, too, has already sold.

No work had to be done to the sleek, Midcentury Modern oak furniture at Don Langley's booth. It was all made at Lane Furniture in Altavista, Va., he says, in the 1960s, and it looks barely used. He wants to keep the bedroom set together at $1,000, but a group of tables are priced at around $125 each.

The designers gasp at the low prices, and photographer David Paul Morris seems to have fallen for a table. Thinking he was here to make money and not to spend it, he hasn't brought his checkbook, so Murphy offers him hers. He hesitates to accept, and we walk on.

(I whisper to Langley that the designers say his prices are too low. "Not for this market," he tells me.)

Flynn admires a big, tarnished candelabra decorated with glass flowers. "That's an example of a unique, one-of-a-kind object that calls to you," she says, but ignores the call. She looks for things, she says, that are finished, not fixer-uppers.

All in good spirits

Murphy picks up a brown crocodile purse and asks the merchant "What are you asking for this?" (Note: Not "How much is this?") The merchant says, "Well, I'm asking $2,000, but for you I could go $25." "Sold," she says, and everyone laughs.

It's fun shopping here, I am noticing. Most of the 750 merchants who have paid $125 a booth seem to enjoy the human part of the market. Many have been up since the wee hours to set up spaces - as early as 4 a.m. on the cold, dark point - and they're not allowed to leave until 3 p.m. because the Goldmans don't want vehicles moving while people are shopping.

"There are a few who just sit in their truck," Goldman said. "But I think success has a lot to do with how you deal with the public."

I finally hear the call of an object at F19, where there is a small glass chandelier that I would like to hang in my walk-in closet. I jot down the booth number, but the designers tell me I should get it now. It's marked $75, but the vendor lets it be known she's open to offers: I offer $55, she laughs and gives it to me for $60, boxed and bagged so I can easily carry it.

I also buy hot chocolate - we are all cold - and the rest of the group tells me that my chandelier is too pretty for a closet. While we are in line, I notice that a nearby booth has hats and scarves. "They must have gloves, too," I think, and pick up knitted red ones, slightly pilled, for $5.

On a warmer day, you could maybe get them for $2; Flynn says she's always hot or cold at this market. It does start to warm up as we reach the outer edges, where the booths seem more cluttered.

"It fades out at the end," Flynn observes.

"Not a spot you want to have," Murphy agrees.

Later I learn that there is indeed a seniority system in effect; vendors can keep the same booth as long as they don't skip two consecutive markets. But Goldman tells me that many of the early birds immediately run for the far booths "because they figure the new people might not be as sophisticated as the regulars, and they might find some deals."

Yes, the early bird gets the worm and he who hesitates is lost, we are reminded when my phone rings. It is our photographer, who went back to try to buy the table he had coveted. "It's gone!" he laments. "Sold! Oh well!"

"I'm so sad for David," Murphy says.

"You can put that in your article," Flynn tells me. "Sometimes you really have to get a jump on."

Going, going, gone

We head back to Accent Brazil, which has stools made of reclaimed hardwood that Flynn thinks would be perfect for her 8-year-old daughter. Vendor Pete Gonzalez flirts with his customers, picks up the pieces, points out how solid they are and announces, "This is not Ikea." Flynn is sold, $100; she arranges for Gonzalez to send an assistant to the gate with the one she chooses.

The designers go back to Center Street in space D24 for coral, but it - and the $650 lamp - are sold. So they return to Willens, and Flynn buys a piece for $50 that she had admired earlier.

After the designers leave, I find a booth with vintage knobs, one with vintage type letters, another with trims. I venture over to the loading area, where the chaotic scene demonstrates the difficulty of buying furniture here: Shoppers wait to get their vehicles into the loading area, then wait for a cart to go pick up their merchandise, then load.

But two young men loading an SUV say they spent $500 for a load of stuff that would be five times more at a store. And Linda Terpstra and her husband, Jeff, pile a Chevy 2500 with an eclectic mix of bargains for her shop near Santa Cruz.

"It is hard work," Linda says, "but it's worth it. We were in line at 5:45."

Then something in the truck catches my eye. I lean in and lift a blanket and see ... a pair of beautifully restored, slate blue French Directoire chairs.

And now I can go home. I have learned enough for one day.

If you go

The Alameda Point Antiques and Collectibles Faire takes place the first Sunday of each month at Alameda Point. The next one is April 6. Enter Alameda through the Webster Tube and follow the signs.

The day we visited, there were about 750 vendors and about 9,000 shoppers. Parking is plentiful and free; admission is $15 when the gates open at 6 a.m., $10 beginning at 7:30 and $5 after 9 (when more than half the attendees enter).

Our guides

Designer Vanessa Murphy can be reached at (415) 971-0515. Kelley Flynn's Web site is www.kelleyflynn.com, where photos show some of her market finds at home.

You might not know unless we told you ...

-- Wear layers and stuff a backpack with water, snacks, pencil and paper, tape measure and, if you're an early bird, a flashlight.

-- Make notes, especially if you buy something you want to pick up later. It's easy to get lost among 750 booths.

-- If you're looking for a specific vendor, there's a list in the booth at the entry.

-- Market maestro Jerry Goldman says the etiquette is that once you pick something up and put it back down, it's fair game for another shopper.

-- It is standard operating procedure to bargain, and some merchants may be motivated by a good sob story; collectors and regulars do homework and know a fair price when they see it.

-- Although early birds may get the best stuff, some vendors haven't gotten everything before the gates open; keep an eye out for them.

-- Prices on large items may drop as 3 p.m. approaches and vendors prefer to unload rather than reload.

-- Some vendors add sales tax, others include it in their round-number price.

-- Avoid the madness of the loading zone in front by going to the one in the back.

-- If you don't have a large vehicle, delivery service can be arranged (fee depends on mileage and other factors, but ballpark $80 for something really big to San Francisco, $40 on Alameda service). Look for the ASAP Delivery Service on-call truck near the entrance. (510) 847-7332. Chris Ybarra says he was swamped at the last market, but is working on a more efficient system and pricing.